Beginnings II
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash. Sequel to 'From Greg'. Spoiler: One to Go. How is Gil handling retirement? Not too well. And Greg isn't doing much better. Can they save their relationship?


NOTE:

This chapter is a sequel to 'From Greg'. Spoiler: One to Go

Beginnings

Part 2

After One to Go I swore I wouldn't watch CSI anymore, but after reading a couple of Greg-centered reviews on Dani's 'Beloved Tigersharks' site I got curious; I checked on a couple of episodes and, well, all I can say is I'm glad I'm not watching anymore. Still, it got me wondering how Gil and Greg were holding up…

* * *

The car drove into the cul-de-sac, slowly, almost noiselessly, its driver seemingly mindful of the lateness of the hour.

It was midnight, and the entire neighborhood was in the dark.

The car moved assuredly towards the last house, then stopped a few yards away. The driver definitely didn't want to disturb the man sleeping inside…

But Gil Grissom was already awake. He'd opened his eyes at the first sound of the car approaching, though he didn't know at first what woke him up. He'd automatically reached for his cell phone on the side table, then stopped when he realized it wasn't ringing. There was no reason for it to be ringing at this hour of the night, anyway. He wasn't a CSI anymore.

Then what...?

He listened intently. Faint sounds were coming from outside; a car door opening and closing, footsteps on the driveway... The driveway he shared with his next-door neighbors., so technically, it could be anyone out there. But his heart started to beat a little bit faster at the possibility that it might be Greg dropping by.

Somewhere in the house, Bruno, his dog, started to whine.

Gil smiled. That was Bruno's, _'Greg's here, Greg's here!' _whine, the one that came with a little doggie dance and sometimes -only sometimes, thank God- with a little puddle of pee. He also scratched the doors when Greg took too long to come in –and yes, there it was, the sound of doggie claws creating havoc on his front door.

Gil's smile widened. He didn't mind the destruction. It was Bruno's way of saying, 'I missed you!' and he understood it completely; he'd missed Greg too. Hey, _he'd_ jump out of bed and run to Greg's encounter and maybe even claw at the doors if he could do it in a dignified manner.

Instead, he lay back in bed and waited. He knew what was coming next: Greg would open the door, Bruno would jump into his arms, and then they'd both stagger into the house. Greg would close the door as quietly as possible; he'd try to quiet down Bruno –

"Shhh, Bruno," Greg hissed, right on cue.

Gil shook his head indulgently. It would take more than that to quiet down the dog. He didn't mind the wait; on the contrary, it gave him time to tidy up things in bed. He still had a tendency to roll into the middle of the bed in his sleep, so he took care of that, rolling to a side and leaving plenty of room for Greg. He picked Greg's pillow and set it in what he hoped was an inviting angle, then he glanced over his shoulder to check on their provisions; the box of condoms on the side table was still half-full, so no worries there. Lastly, he checked himself; his breath was ok, and he was wearing drawstring pajamas –Greg's favorites.

Greg opened the door then. He paused for a couple of seconds, getting used to the semi darkness of the room. He was also waiting for some sign that Grissom was awake.

"Hey," Gil said accordingly.

"Hey," Greg said. He closed the door behind him and then walked into the room with slow, hesitant steps.

'He's exhausted,' Gil thought, feeling concern and not a little disappointment. He really wanted to make love to Greg. They hadn't seen each other for days, and their brief phone conversations had done little to assuage his need.

Greg started taking off his clothes, slowly, as if even this simple task took too much energy from him. He dropped his shirt on the bed, and the careless move sent a wave of scents that Grissom readily identified. Greg's very expensive cologne... His shampoo... And a lemony scent that no cologne in the world could mask; a scent that took Grissom right back to the lab -to the showers, to be more exact: the scent of the liquid yellow soap in the shower dispensers. Greg usually shunned the stuff, and the fact that he'd used it tonight could only mean one thing.

They'd found a dead body.

A _heavily_ decomposed body, Gil thought; the kind that practically disintegrates before your very eyes, the putrefying flesh a feast for the maggots and flies crawling all over it…

It was enough to make his mouth water.

Dead bodies might look alike after a few years dealing with them, but oh, each of them was quite unique. Each body offered a wealth of information, and it was up to the investigators -it was up to _him_- to unveil its secrets -

'Stop it!' Gil thought abruptly, and he almost said the words out loud. He shouldn't be thinking like this; he wasn't a CSI anymore -he wasn't even consulting on cases- and decomposed bodies were no longer a concern of his.

He knew, yet kept forgetting. It was like being a recovering addict; an alcoholic, shaking with need at the sight of a bottle, or a cocaine addict who felt the taste at the back of his throat at the mere sight of the stuff…

The bed dipped on Greg's side then. Greg sighed as his head touched the pillow. He didn't bother to pull the covers, and for a moment he lay on the bed, his eyes closed, his cotton boxers the only covering –a very flimsy one.

Grissom smiled; this looked like an invitation, and he didn't hesitate to take it. He reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Greg's bicep. Cool skin, the muscles hard even in repose... Up close, the scent of the soap was stronger. He must have scrubbed his body over and over, Gil realized, and he had a pleasant image of it, despite the grim reasons behind it.

What he would have given to be there, scrubbing Greg's back…

It took him a couple of seconds to realize Greg wasn't responding to the caress. The young man hadn't even acknowledged him.

'A bad case,' Gil realized. Not everybody saw a decomposed body primarily as a source of information, after all; for others, it was the loss of life that mattered. A CSI should always balance the two concerns, but it wasn't always easy.

"Bad night?" Gil said sympathetically.

"Bad day," Greg said without opening his eyes. He belatedly patted Grissom's hand, but that was all he did, and Gil got the message. He didn't withdraw his hand, he simply let it rest on Greg's arm, in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"They let you out early," he said conversationally.

"Yeah, well, I'd just pulled a double shift. And I've got a court appearance later today, so Catherine figured I needed the rest. That last case we had -" he shook his head, wearily.

Grissom sighed to himself. They'd been through this before, back when they were still working together. They'd often returned from their shift too exhausted to do anything but lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling. They couldn't even comfort each other because the cases sometimes left them feeling dirty and tainted, unfit to be with another human being. Eventually, they did turn to each other, thank God, and this gave Gil hope.

Meanwhile, all he could do was be there for Greg and try to provide some comfort. He pulled the covers and tucked them around Greg. The young man didn't seem to notice; he was staring at the open window now, too tired to move yet too wired up to fall asleep.

Gil squeezed Greg's bicep in a gentle, reassuring manner one last time, then lay on his back again. Truthfully, he didn't mind not getting sex, but the silence was a little unnerving –which struck him as ironic, since he was the one responsible for it.

It all started a few days after his retirement. One day Greg had started talking about a case Gil hadn't worked on. Something must have shown on Gil's face, because the young man stopped in mid-word all of a sudden, looked sheepishly at Grissom and asked, 'You really don't wanna know, do you?' And Grissom had smiled and said, 'I don't want to know.' They'd laughed it off, but that brief conversation had set the tone for their next talks. They never discussed Greg's work again, and if his coworkers were ever mentioned, it was only in connection with something personal –a joke made by one of them, for instance; Catherine's new hairdo, or Nick's birthday.

And since Gil didn't think his own problems were that important –not when compared to the crimes Greg had been investigating- there were times when they didn't have much to talk about.

'And here we are,' Gil thought, staring at the ceiling while Greg looked at the moon. They were lying close together but emotionally, it was as if they'd been in separate rooms.

There was a sudden intake of breath from Greg. Grissom perked up, but Greg didn't immediately speak. The young man drew another breath, but it wasn't till the third attempt that he finally spoke. The words caught Gil by surprise.

"No one ever talks about you."

Gil frowned.

"No one," Greg said, "Not even Hodges." He was silent for a moment, then, "It's like they're all pretending you never existed."

Grissom considered this for a moment. It was interesting, he thought; in _his_ new life, it was as if none of them existed either.

"I don't get it," Greg muttered, almost to himself.

"Well…" Gil started, "I suppose they're too busy to be talking about me. And I'm glad," he added. "It means they're doing fine without me. It means _I_ did a good job teaching them." He glanced at Greg, and their gazes finally met. "They've outgrown me, Greg."

Greg merely shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He didn't seem convinced.

Grissom waited for a moment.

"So, how's everyone," he said, the words feeling false in his tongue. He didn't particularly need to know; it just seemed appropriate to ask.

"Fine, I guess." Greg was silent for a moment. "Some of the guys turn to Professor Langston for advice, now. Makes me wonder if that's why you brought him to the lab." He glanced at Grissom. "To fill the void."

Grissom was bewildered by the comment. Filling voids was far from his mind when he talked to Ray Langston about joining the lab. He thought working at the lab would be a good alternative for Langston, considering his disenchantment with his job. And yes, he considered Langston would be a great addition to the lab. He'd be good for the team; a man with insight who didn't seem to have pressing attachments -

Grissom paused at the last thought.

All right; maybe –just maybe- he had thought of him as a replacement.

He glanced at Greg.

"So, how's he doing?" He wasn't particularly curious, but Greg had brought up the subject, and there might be a reason for him to do so.

"He's learning," Greg shrugged almost imperceptibly. "It looks like he's spending a lot of time at the lab. He even helps Doc Robbins during the autopsies, sometimes."

"Does he?" Gil said politely. Then it seemed the Professor was doing exactly what Gil had done back when he started -try to get involved in every step of a case. Gil had learned the hard way that it couldn't be done. Sooner or later, one got overwhelmed by the overload of information. Besides, why should anyone try to do everything, when there were others just as good or even better?

He'd learned to let go back then, thank God, just as he was learning to let go now. This was something he hadn't told Greg yet; that even though he was content with his decision to leave the lab, he was still struggling with the consequences. He was living his new life as a civilian one day at a time. Talking about the lab made it more difficult, and so he tried not to.

As if on cue, Greg turned to look at him and asked, "Do you miss it?"

Greg had never asked that before. Considerate to the end, he'd avoided the subject, yet it had obviously been in his mind all this time.

And now he wanted an answer.

"Sometimes," Gil said cautiously. Of course, he missed it –the job, the routine that came with it… He just didn't want to talk about that. "I miss the smell of my office," he said.

Greg scoffed softly, mostly to himself.

It was the wrong comment, Gil could see that, but what else could he say? Of course he missed the job. He just didn't miss the people. Oh, he was fond of them, and he wished them well, but he didn't particularly want to see them. He never socialized with them back then -he wasn't about to start now.

Still, now that they'd finally talked about it, he realized there were things he missed; though they had more to do with his relationship with Greg.

In the 'old days' they'd come home from work together, and, equally exhausted, they'd get into bed and fall instantly asleep. Then, hours later, Greg would wake up and reach for him and kiss him, and pull him into his arms… And what a heavenly way to wake up that was. He missed that.

To be fair, he was partly responsible for the change. In the past, he'd let Greg take the lead in their love-making. Weary after a full day at the lab, he was relieved to leave some decisions to somebody else. And he was in good hands; Greg's hands -the best. Since his retirement, however, he'd been gradually asserting himself, and taking the lead in their sexual encounters. If Greg resented this, he'd kept it to himself.

Grissom frowned. Judging by Greg's behavior tonight, it looked like he'd been keeping a lot to himself.

He looked at Greg. The young man had pulled the covers to his chin and closed his eyes, as if he were finally giving in to his exhaustion. Gil sighed. It looked like they'd have to finish this conversation some other time. But before he could turn away and settle in for the night, Greg spoke again.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm in mourning."

Grissom opened his eyes, asked with some difficulty. "Why?"

Greg looked at the window again.

"'Cause it really is as if you died," he said. He gulped, the next words obviously painful to say. "The other guys find some sort of comfort in the Professor but I just…" He shook his head. "I can't do that. It's _you_ I need. Sometimes we're at a crime scene and I –I look up and half-expect you to be there; I keep hoping to hear you say something that will help make some sense of the mess -you always managed to do that." He paused, then said, almost angrily, "There are times when I'm at a lab and I think I hear your steps, and then I turn to look and it isn't you."

"Greg -"

"I miss _Grissom_."

Grissom looked up sharply. 'I'm here,' he wanted to say. 'I'm not at the lab, but I'm still here,.' But the words never came out. It wasn't true, anyway. Greg had spelled it out clearly: he needed Grissom, not Gil.

"And before you ask," Greg said, "No, it's not affecting my work. You taught me not to let my personal life get in the way."

"I wasn't going to ask," Gil said quietly. "I know you can do your job."

Greg sighed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have -" he didn't finish. He'd said what he'd said –there was no use trying to back down now.

Grissom didn't know what to say, or do. He was suddenly reminded of something a witness told him once, to explain why he kept falling off the wagon. 'People like me better when I'm drunk,' he said. 'I'm funny, I'm smart… People miss that guy.'

Well, Gil was a pretty boring guy when compared to Grissom. It was what he'd feared all along.

But he loved Greg; he wasn't ready to give him up just like that. On an impulse, he took Greg's hand. A capable hand, strong and sensitive. He gently caressed Greg's knuckles with his thumb.

"There's a fresh scratch here," he said.

"Minor accident," Greg muttered.

They were silent for a moment.

"You know," Gil said, "There was a time when I couldn't imagine a life outside the lab. I spent more time there than anywhere else. I didn't mind. I loved it. I knew I'd have to leave some day, but I didn't want to deal with that. I was lucky," he added, "I had other interests; I had my insects, I had my books -"

"Your Pink Floyd records," Greg said, smiling a little.

"My Pink Floyd records," Gil nodded, smiling back. "I don't know where I'd be without them." He paused, then added, "I don't know where I'd be without you." He looked down at the hand he was holding. "I've never told you this, but... I miss you." He looked up. "I miss you every second we're apart."

It wasn't the best speech he'd ever given in his life, but it was effective.

It left Greg, well, speechless.

Grissom smiled. He raised Greg's hand and held it against his cheek.

Greg gulped.

"You wouldn't do that if you knew what I touched today."

"Yes, I would," Gil said, and deliberately pressed his lips on Greg's palm and fingers.

Greg gasped.

Gil lowered Greg's hand after a moment, and carefully put it back atop Greg's chest.

"There," he said. He patted Greg's bicep, "Try to get some sleep." He lay on his back again and closed his eyes.

Beside him, Greg was still too stunned to speak. He wasn't moving –he wasn't even breathing, it seemed.

And then -

"I'm an idiot," Greg said suddenly.

Gil opened one eye.

"What?"

"I've just realized," Greg said, elated, "The guys, back at the lab… We have each other. We can talk about the cases, and help each other… But at the end of the day, I'm the one who gets to come home to you." He looked at Gil, "I'm lucky."

Grissom smiled.

"I'm -" I'm lucky too, he was about to say, but by then Greg had started kissing him, and words weren't necessary anymore.

* * *

The End


End file.
